


Liars Must Be Punished

by Sandentwins



Category: Taiyou no Ko Esteban | Les Mystérieuses Cités d'or | The Mysterious Cities of Gold
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Gaslighting, Gen, Illustrations, Physical Abuse, Trauma, Universe Alteration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:20:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21895027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandentwins/pseuds/Sandentwins
Summary: Esteban doesn't believe he is the Child of the Sun, but he's ready to accept it. However, not everyone agrees with that, and it's up to him to prove the truth right.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	Liars Must Be Punished

**Author's Note:**

> Also known as "What the fuck is up with Esteban's powers in Season 2".

_I'm just a child like any other_ , he claims. He repeats it and holds it to be true, shields himself with these words to fight back superstitions and stubborn beliefs. He's just a boy, an average Spanish boy like any other, and there's nothing to him that can prove otherwise.

But he knows. Deep down, he knows, and yet refuses to face it.

The monks that watch over him seem to know something he doesn't. Sometimes they whisper, they exchange worried glances, and Esteban feigns to not notice it, to pretend everything is fine. The monastery is his sanctuary, but even here he feels like he's being watched and judged, and he has to deal with this uneasy feeling he can't explain. Of course, the adults make it clear they love him and care for him like their own son, but deep down, he knows there's something they're not telling him.

In the water of a puddle, in the sheen of a spoon, he sees his own reflection, and he ponders. He sees his eyes that appear gold, and he tries to tell himself that he's wrong, that they're just a light brown, that there's nothing unusual to be seen. He notices the way his face seems to shimmer under the sunlight, like thin flakes of gold on his skin, and tells himself it's nothing, it's just sweat or something similar. He doesn't want to stand out, he _hates_ to stand out, and yet his body betrays him and makes itself way too easy to recognize. No matter how much dirt he rubs over his hands and face, he can't make it disappear, he can't appear just like any other child.

And he hates it.

He sometimes would like to ask Father Rodriguez where he comes from, for maybe it could explain how come no one in town looked like him. But he figures it isn't a good thing to inquire about. All he knows is that someone brought him here, to the monastery, when he was no older than a baby. Brought him from where? He dares not ask. Maybe what he'll hear won't please him, maybe it'll only make things worse. All he has is this idea of 'somewhere', and his moon pendant.

And for a while, it's all he needs. He can deal with this. He can deal with not knowing, even though curiosity nibbles at him whenever he spends too much time playing with his necklace, or ponders about what is outside the city he's grown up in. He can deal with being the way he is, with having to run from people calling him a child of the Sun, with this weird obsession everyone has with him and his so-called abilities. He can deal with it, for now.

~~~~~

But things always change. Things come and go, and new things that come end up eroding his whole worldview little by little.

He travels. He sees new places, learns of new things. He meets people with so many different beliefs, and while he's opening his mind to it all, it still seems very strange to him. Yet that strangeness brings comfort, for it changes from everything he's known so far. He was a stranger to these people he met, but they were strangers to him too, and that feeling he's known all his life was reciprocated. It was petty, but it made him feel better about himself and his weirdness. The people he stayed with for longer times eventually got over their first impressions, and while the whispers remained, they were not as persistent. And he appreciated it.

Zia is there, and she does not judge him nor berate him for who or what he is. She's understanding, she knows what he's gone through, and he knows she felt the same. As an Inca girl at the court of Spain, she too felt like an outcast, an anomaly, that people gawked at without an end, until she felt physically sick and hateful of the world around her. They can be outcasts together, he offers, and she's quick to take up on his word.

Tao is there, with his quirks and his manners, and a difference he's actually _proud_ of. He claims he is the way he is, and that how he acts and speaks and behaves is a matter of cultural pride, and Esteban wishes he could understand. For weeks on end, Tao refuses to learn to speak Spanish, instead expressing himself in the language of his ancestors, and it frustrates the group to no end; yet the children remain patient, and eventually learn enough words to hold strange conversations. And all the while, Esteban ponders about it, about how that boy kept holding onto what makes him unique and different; and the more he thought about it over time, the more it made him consider some things he hadn't seen before.

The people are stubborn. They don't want to let go of what they believe in. They call Esteban a godsend, a child of the sun, a messenger and a demon. They keep mentioning that power he supposedly has, the power to call forth the sun and make it shine at will. For the longest part, he's dubious, he claims it's a coincidence. When that strange masked priest beckons him to try, he does so without really meaning to, and that's when he feels it.

There's something he's not telling him. Something that buggers him for the following days, some doubt lingering in his mind that he can't quell. Something he knows he will need to find out.

Something that can maybe explain many things about him.

~~~~~

During the few months they spend searching the New Continent, he trains. He attempts, he practices, he discovers little by little what he's able to do. The way the sun reacts to his emotions, the way light responds to his thoughts. The way it makes him feel better, rejuvenated, like this faint gold sheen on his skin is not an illusion, but an indicator of his well-being and happiness. Left to themselves, the three children discover many things, some more or less related to the quest for the Cities of Gold, some others about themselves; and Esteban is no exception.

He doesn't know how it works. All he knows is that he has some sort of influence on the sun, and it _could_ be linked to his emotions or state of mind. He's not sure, but he's eager to find out more. To discover just what he's able to do, and maybe answer his questions once and for all.

But busy as he is taking it for granted, he forgets the world still sees him as an outcast. He forgets his abilities still freak out and frighten others. He forgets that what he considers natural is not what the world wants. And when he returns to that reality, in need of comfort and advice, it hits him hard like a stick across the back, cutting his breath and causing him to fall on the cold ground.

_You're not special. You don't have powers. You're a liar, and liars must be punished._

Is he? But how else can he explain these many occurrences, these moments when he _did_ command to the sun, and it listened to him? How to explain these coincidences, these proofs that there is _something_ more to him than meets the eye?

_You're a liar. Your whole existence is an insult to everything you should believe in. You're a liar, and liars must be punished._

He cries. Alone in his room, he weeps, trying to ease the burning feeling on his flesh. The skin of his arms is barred with red, and he can't see the shimmers of gold under the bruises that bloom. It's like the light has disappeared from him, like it has abandoned him. His room is so dark that he can't make out the gold of his eyes, in what twisted reflection he gets from the glass of an ink bottle. In that moment, he is not the Child of the Sun anymore, but a lone, crying little boy.

~~~~~

Mendoza's arrival breaks him from the darkness, like he broke him from prison just a few days earlier. The moon necklace he gives him is just like himself: tarnished, blemished, nothing but a shadow of its former self. And he hesitates, he doesn't now whether he should; but Mendoza insists, and when Esteban finally picks it in his hand, the light comes back. It shines like a sunbeam, and the golden freckles on his hand shine along, and the sun itself comes out as if it echoed to his mind. He looks up at his old friend expectantly, and the sailor simply says that it is what he is, what he's meant to be.

And Esteban follows him. He follows him, he follows his friends, away from here and back into the light. It's but a sliver of hope, but he holds onto it, because they insist so much, and because he _knows_ he has to.

But something inside him stays broken. Like a bone that can't quite heal, a scar that remains, something inside him still carries the weight of these words, these thoughts he was made to bear. The light is there, but it is clouded and pale, like a cold winter sky that refuses to appear blue. Whenever he meets his reflection, he turns his head away, trying to ignore it, to not look at himself. Trying to chase away the words that come back even more.

_You're just a child like any other. Stop lying to yourself._

Is he lying to himself? What even is the truth? He does not know. He does not dare to ask, for no one can answer.

_Your return here was no accident. It's time you return to being a normal child, and find a family._

His return was caused by the death of his father. It's the reason why he came back to Barcelona, to find Mendoza and ask him the truth. Was it all planned along? What kind of sick, twisted joke was this?

It tore at his heart. It made him physically sick only thinking about it. His friends noticed, and tried to press the matter, but he refused to talk about it, fearing he would not be able to handle it. He refused to accept it as the truth, but there was still a doubt, a _what if?_ that bore its way into his mind, that made it seem like everything was going according to some cosmic plan he could not fight against. Like the goal of all things was to make him accept that he was nothing but a mere child, a nobody. And maybe this had an influence after all, for after a time of this, the light simply disappeared.

Gone were the freckles of gold that speckled his skin. Gone was the orichalcum sheen in his eyes. Gone was what made him special and unique. Almost overnight, he lost everything that he's been avoiding for so long.

And he freaked out.

Was it sickness? Was it an illusion? Was it the result of his wishing he were nothing different and special? Or did Father Marco's words influence him so much, that they changed his whole truth and reality?

He began to grow afraid. If he was losing what made him himself, what else would happen? How far would he go down that path? Would his friends even like him, if he were a different person? Would Mendoza still care for him, would Pedro and Sancho still play with him, would Ambrosius still talk to him? He did not want to lose what he's gained, he did not want to enter that truth. So he said nothing, trying to stay the same Esteban he's always been, and while his friends definitely noticed something was off, they didn't speak a word.

So for a time, he accepted it. He was finally becoming normal, and he hoped it would ease the pain. He hoped it would make him forget.

But it didn't work.

~~~~~

His father has been in China before, and crumbs of his trail are still scattered throughout the country. Esteban doesn't know why he picks them up; it's not logical, it's pointless, it won't amount to anything. It won't make him come back, it won't change anything.

But whenever someone talks of him, whenever someone mentions knowing him, he feels strange. He feels warm, he feels like he has a goal to follow, one more important even than the Cities of Gold. He feels like he knows where he's going, and he's going to go there no matter what. He'll follow that trail, he'll go wherever he needs to, for it's what he wants.

Zia is there. She reassures him, she tells him that they have nothing to fear. They are the chosen children, after all. He doesn't know how she can have such confidence in herself, but he simply nods and follows her. And she's right as always, and her hand in his' adds some weight to the difficult balance of his thoughts. He's not alone, he's not the only one whose destiny is different than other children's.

He's not sure what to think of it, but it definitely helps.

~~~~~

A new crumb comes into his hands. For the first time, the 'somewhere' has a clear name. He knows who are his ancestors, where his people come from, whom his father was.

Atlantis. The name rings a faint bell of the High Priest's tale, of two civilizations that fought to the death over some petty squabbles. He never knew what to think of it, until now, until he could finally have some place to relate to, even if it is long gone now.

For a time, he allows himself to believe. He allows himself to dream of a forlorn people, of a distant origin, of something almost mystical that has been passed onto him. Did these people really control the sun? Did they truly have such a tight bond with it, that their hands and eyes reflected it? For the first time ever, he understands what made him so different, why he is the way he is, and he finds that the golden glimmer is back. Under the sunlight, his hands, his cheeks, his arms shimmer like the sunlit sea, and he feels _complete_.

But this feeling couldn't last. For taking pride in his origins meant losing his friend, for the sake of rivalry. That night, Tao's words lashed at him harder even than wooden sticks, and that thing within him shattered again.

For simply being the way he was, he caused someone else to be angry at him. And the thought brought horrible echoes of correction and straightening, that his flesh painfully recalled as if his bruises had bloomed once more.

He couldn't take it anymore. That night, he cried, he cried like he hadn't done in what seemed like ages, he cried out this injustice and this unfairness and this _curse_ he was befallen with, that made him unable to be normal. How could he be proud of it, when being the way he was meant so many bad things?

Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was bad memories coming back up. But something changed in Esteban, even though he tried to keep up a happy facade. Something that reminded him, no matter what he would try to change, that his entire being was at fault. That he was a mistake, that his powers and origins were making people unhappy. That his mere existence was wrong.

He eventually reconciled with Tao, of course. But some wounds never truly heal. Sometimes they stay, they sneak deep into one's flesh and heart, where they leave a mark that no amount of forgiveness can erase. And like termites eating at wood, they start rotting from the inside, until everything collapses into a pile of dust.

~~~~~

He refuses to believe it.

He would like to, of course. He would _love_ to think he has any power over the sun. But whenever he tries to, whenever he thinks about the coincidences and events of the past, the old wounds open up, and his flesh remembers.

_You're a liar. What you're saying is not possible. You're not the Child of the Sun, you're just a liar!_

Zia turns to him, asks him to clear the fog away, so they can finally see where they are. But he can't. He can't bring himself to it, and he shudders for no reason, maybe because it's cold, maybe because he remembers the time he tried to prove it to him, and– _it hurts it hurts stop it please please i'll stop i'll stop–_

–and Zia holds his arms, and he's shaking, and he starts to cry and he doesn't know why, and _it hurts, make it stop, i'll be good, i promise_ , and his friends hold him tight and close and safe and _warm_ and _it's alright, Esteban, it's going to be alright, we're here_ , and they guide him through it, and they assure that no one will be here to hurt him. He tries to deny it, to say he doesn't need help, but he's so pale and trembling that the old bruises reappear on his skin, no matter how much he says he's alright. He doesn't want his friends to know, he doesn't want them to worry, but they do anyway, for he's bad at hiding the truth. He's not sure of whether or not he's a mistake, whether his powers are a sin, but he knows one thing for sure, that it _hurts_.

And so, they guide him. They hold his hands, and whisper gently, and ease his tears. And little by little, Esteban finds the strength to raise his arms, to call upon his heart, and to make a wish. He wishes for the truth to be told, for his existence to find its reason, for the lies to part like clouds and for justice to be made.

From between the fog of the mountain, the sun then shines bright. It shines and it shines, and it chases away the fog and the clouds and the lies, and Esteban lets that light wash over him, cleanse him. He opens his eyes, and stares right at the sun, taking it in, letting the light enter him without it burns or blinds him, and finding the truth that was hidden inside of him. His friends cheer and congratulate him, and he can't help smiling despite his tears. He looks down at his arms, and the sunny freckles glimmer back at him, like they've always done. Tao says something about how Atlanteans could do some pretty nifty stuff, and it somehow warms Esteban's heart, for his existence is slowly finding its justification. He's being himself, he's doing what he's always done, and no one is angry at him; they're all amazed, happy, and the City on the mountains reveals itself to them like a reward.

It feels good. The memory still nags at him, trying to pull him back; but for the time being, it still feels good.

~~~~~

_You're a liar._

His father is dead. That's something he had to accept. Something he's been _forced_ to accept. He's had hopes, he's had doubts, he's thought that _maybe_ he could have survived– but these hopes have been forced out of him the same way wheat grains are forced out of their husks.

_You're a liar!_

What he held as truth had been repressed, saying it was a lie. He's had to accept whatever he was told to accept, because he was nothing but a child, and he had no choice. To lie about it was a severe offense, and it deserved punishment.

_He's here, in China? He's been here all along?_

He's forced himself to accept it, to kill these little hopes that remained, for he couldn't afford to have them. He had to content himself with crumbs, with remains, with what nothings have been scattered on his path, for it was all that was left of his father. That was all he had to honor his memory, to try to move on, to forget the pain.

_For all this time, you knew? And you didn't tell me!?_

And now, now that the deed has been done and his hope quelled, they resurfaced. Mendoza's words have brought back a spark of hope, a bright spark of truth. A spark so bright it sent everything ablaze, burning everything down in what Esteban could only identify as pure, overflowing rage.

_You're a traitor, a liar! I hate you!!_

He lashed out. He cried, he shouted, he tried to punch the man in front of him, he tried to hurt him like _he's_ been hurt. It was unfair! Why did he have to accept someone else's truth as his own, whereas Mendoza knew and did nothing to help him? How long has he known? Has he watched him suffer in silence, knowing he was grieving his father to the point of tears, without bothering to do anything? Esteban was filled with anger, and he didn't listen to reason anymore, for all he wanted was to make this feeling _go away_.

He hit, he punched, and Mendoza stood there unmoving, like the boy's attempts didn't even make a dent nor a difference. He kept this calm expression on his face, as Esteban let out his wrath on him, crying and shaking and remembering all these times he _knew_ and didn't tell him, until his fists became sore and his arms too weak to try anymore, and he simply kept crying.

Mendoza held him close, and explained why he had done it. Esteban couldn't believe him; he thought it was a cruel joke, some twisted prank pulled by their invisible enemies, and couldn't let himself believe it was real. Not after all he's been through to believe the opposite. Not while the wounds were still hurting.

So he asked. He requested to see him. He was tired of having to listen to others, to believe what they wanted him to believe. He wanted to make his own truth for once, and _demanded_ to see him. Mendoza could only comply, not for his stubbornness than to help him feel better. He led the way, and Esteban's heart only beat faster, fast enough to drown the pain in his pulse.

He will find out.

~~~~~

For the first time in his life, he looked at gold, and gold was looking back.

There was no mistaking it. From what little of the man's face could be seen, what little hasn't been destroyed, it was the same as his own. The same faint glimmer that the moonlight revealed, the same speckles that perhaps only he could see. Where he could have doubted that the High Priest was related to him in any way, this time there was no mistaking it. This man, this stranger before him, was his father.

He was _alive_. He was alive and well, and it was the _truth_.

He didn't know what to do. What to say, how to feel. He's had his dreams of meeting him again torn away from him, so much that he now had no idea of how to proceed. He spoke, some hesitant and awkward words, and the man replied in a detached manner. He was so formal, so imposing that Esteban didn't know if this was right. But then, he spoke again.

_Is it true that you can command the sun?_

That's when Esteban lost it.

Everything washed down on him like a waterfall, freezing him to the bone. The memories, the beatings, the lies, the hopes and the disillusions, everything came onto him so fast he couldn't fight it back. He started crying, calling out to his father, _begging_ for him to come and put an end to his pain. Athanaos pushed him away, fearing contagion, and Esteban saw in his eyes that he felt the same. They were so close, yet so far apart, and it was horribly painful to endure. Esteban looked at him silently, his eyes running endlessly, the pain still there and nagging at him. Everything he had to think of as a lie, was becoming true again, and the fear of punishment was there.

But even a man like Athanaos could understand. Crouching down, he took his son's hands in his own, and squeezed them tight, as if to bring him back to reality. Esteban looked up despite his tears, and saw he was smiling. It was the same smile that he'd shown him back then, when everything was happening. When he told him to not be sad, to not worry, for he too had his own path to follow. And his hands were just as warm, as warm as the sun itself, and for a moment they transported him back to that moment, that one moment when despite everything, he had felt suddenly at peace.

He squeezed his hands in return, as if to tell him he understood. This feeling, this warmth could not lie. This was the truth, his own truth, the one that nothing and no one could deny.

The one he would now have to fight for.

~~~~~

The next morning, the sun had risen again. It seemed it would always rise, no matter what; such was something no one could lie about. There were some truths in this world that nothing could shake, not even pain or fear or coercion. And Esteban knew at least three of them.

One, he wasn't just a child like any other.

Two, he had in his hands an ancient Atlantean power that could call forth the sun.

Three, his father was alive, and they'd meet again very soon.


End file.
